


when my mirror met yours

by fmo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drag Queens, Gen, M/M, Some minor violence, steve and bucky are queer and happy in old time brooklyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmo/pseuds/fmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's always said he and Bucky knew each other their whole lives. But, as Sam points out, Steve told some reporters once that they met when Bucky saved him from some guys who were beating him up. </p><p>Which one's true? Well, both are--plus a piece of the story Steve's never told anyone before.</p><p>Kinda inspired by this tumblr post: http://nonbinarybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/86332333368/why-is-it-that-in-all-pre-serum-steve-bucky-fics</p>
            </blockquote>





	when my mirror met yours

“So you and Barnes grew up together?” Sam says, selecting another slice of pizza from the pizza box open on the bed between them. They’re sitting with their feet propped up, trying not to think about the files they found that morning. The motel room is about as dingy as Days Inns usually are, but in a way it’s also still luxurious--at least, it is to a small part of Steve. It has an air conditioner blowing a steady stream of icy air, and standing in the shower feels like a fall of warm rain.

“I knew him since I was in--I guess it was first grade, or maybe when we were even littler. Don’t really remember us meeting, so I guess we were always just in the same class,” Steve says. His memory is so crisp now; he wishes he could remember those long-ago years better, but it all seems so distant now, and back then he seemed to spend all his time trying to catch up with school after having been out sick. That’s what he mostly remembers from being a kid.

Sam dunks his crust into the pot of liquid-garlicky-not-really-butter that came with the pizza.“Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you met when he rescued you from some bullies or something. No offense, but I watched a special on you a few November 11ths ago, back when it was ‘in memoriam’ for you.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “I guess I did say that to someone, once. No, I mean, we grew up together, and we were friends when we were kids, but when we got older we sorta lost that. Wasn’t ‘til I was getting beaten up when I was nineteen or so, and he pulled the guys off me, that we really got to know each other again.”

“Huh,” Sam says with interest, but he leaves it at that. Sam’s awfully good at leaving spaces that way, so that Steve can say more if he wants to, but not if he doesn’t. Most of the time, Steve doesn’t. But--he trusts Sam. He wants to tell Sam the whole story.

“Well, I was nineteen,” Steve begins.

*

Steve was nineteen and getting beaten up, and he was kind of worried. He got into fights a lot, but this time he hadn’t even said anything to anyone. Judging by the stuff the guys had said to him a few minutes ago, though, it was more that they had a personal problem with _him_. And his personal habits, favorite bars, romantic predilections, etcetera. In other words, it was really not a secret in his neighborhood that Steve Rogers was queer. And Steve would fight anyone who had a problem with it, except--

He was a little worried. His arm really hurt now. And the guys just weren’t stopping, and he was definitely swallowing blood.

Steve fought his way to his feet again, and had to reach for a garbage can to steady himself as he stood. He balled up his fist, and looked at the three guys around him, and told himself just to swing hard at whichever one stepped forward again first. It was dark, and the guys had followed him ‘til he was pretty far from a streetlamp, and he couldn’t see that well anyway, but he was going to be fine, he told himself. Nothing to do but fight.

And that was when a really tall woman appeared out of the night, kicked one of the guys hard in the seat of the pants and sent him sprawling, and then landed a beautiful haymaker on the second guy’s chin when he turned around to look. By the time the only guy left standing had his fists up to fight her, the woman had jabbed a second kick into the gut of the guy she'd kicked before. And she was wearing huge shoes, too, with sharp-as-hell heels.

“Get the fuck out,” she spat to the remaining guy in a lovely, deep, furious voice. Like a gorgeous Valkyrie, alight with vengeful ardor, Steve thought in a daze.

The guy left standing scrammed instantly, and the two she’d knocked over stumbled to their feet, evaluated the situation and the look on her face, and then lurched off as well, clutching their injuries. The Valkyrie watched them go, then offered her hand to Steve, who was still hanging on to the trash can for support, and said, “You okay, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Steve said automatically, “I’m almost twent--oh my god, you’re Bucky Barnes.”

It was Bucky Barnes, who he'd gone to high school with. He hadn’t seen it before, but now even in the dim light he could see the face he’d never forget. Bucky Barnes, the smartest kid in most of his classes and star of the baseball team. Bucky Barnes, wearing lipstick that had to be red and a curly brunette wig; his broad shoulders and arms were wrapped in some kind of long, slinky coat with a slightly-worn fur collar, and at the place where the collar opened there was the gleam of jewelry. Bucky's jaw was as lovely and angular as Steve remembered, the strength of it highlighted by the lipstick; his eyebrows weren’t plucked, so their unexpected softness heightened the effect of the dark makeup around his eyes.

Bucky’s face turned a little shocked, but then Steve said, “Sorry. I won’t tell. Promise. They even came after me because--you know. I understand. I mean I don’t, uh, but--”

“I get you,” Bucky said. “Thanks, Steve.” And he smiled--that warm, genuine, lovely smile that had always drawn people to Bucky. Then he said, “You wanna get cleaned up? Place I just left’s only a couple doors down. I know the bartender, they’ve got ice.”

Steve realized he was still holding his hurt arm to his stomach. He’d barely noticed it. Now that he was looking down, he realized that his shirt wasn’t in such good condition, either. And his face was aching all over, so he could only guess how busted-up it looked. Damn. “I’m all right,” he said. He had everything he needed at home.

“You’re crazy,” Bucky argued good-naturedly. “C’mon, there’s only the nice kind of sinning inside, promise.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I wasn’t worried about that.” Bucky’s pleased expression at that made it impossible for Steve to do anything then but say, “All right. But just so you know, I’m a lightweight.”

“We’ll try the drinks another night,” Bucky said, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder as they went on down the street. He smelled of perfume and wool, and a little of sweat: all of it a sweet aura surrounding him. Steve couldn't have walked away even if he wanted to--which he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! It really brightens my day when I'm having a hard day at work (like every day).
> 
> Come say hi at fmowrites.tumblr.com.


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